It’s not so much that I don’t know how to do this feat of daring, but rather, that it has been so long (just like reading for myself) that I’ve pretty much forgotten how.
In the last handful of years I have written, rewritten, edited, analyzed, evaluated, tweaked, and tossed so much “stuff” that I can’t even count. The closest I come to writing good, original content is drafting Facebook status updates or filling out the formal lesson plan forms for my school.
Had you checked in with me 10, 15, even 30 years ago, you’d likely have found me writing–writing stories, poems, articles, essays, blogs, etc.
But I’ve just…stopped. I never stopped thinking about my writing. Not for one moment. In the process of living my life, I documented that life in different ways…a photograph, a status update, a text or email. I hesitated at the point of overt elaboration. I ask myself things like: do I really want to share that? Will this or that hurt anyone? Does anyone actually care what I have to say.
I have thought about this last one every day of my cognizant life.
So I am going to write more and more often. Or at least make an attempt to do so. If no one, or someone, or everyone reads this, that’s OK. Because I am just sitting here writing for me.